Sheryl Lister - Still Loving You

“Well, you only have two more months to go. Did you and Omar change your minds about finding out the baby’s sex?” Malcolm placed the bowl on the table, along with plates, utensils and a smaller bowl of salad dressing.

“Nope. We’re going to wait. Of course, Vonnie and Faith are trying to get me to change my mind, talking about they need to know what to shop for.” Siobhan, whom they affectionately called Vonnie, was the oldest of the five siblings. She and her husband, Justin, had a daughter who’d just celebrated her first birthday.

He smiled, got two glasses of iced mint tea and brought them to the table. “Faith isn’t expecting, is she?” Faith and their oldest brother, Brandon, were trying for a baby, and Malcolm hoped they had good news soon.

She shook her head as she filled her plate.

Their mother was beside herself with being a grandmother and with all of her children getting married. The only problem was that her attention had now shifted solely to Malcolm, the only single one. But he wasn’t biting. As he had told his family countless times, he planned to be a bachelor for life. He loved the freedom to come and go as he pleased, and the ability to decide when he wanted to date. No hassle, no fuss. He would gladly accept the role of uncle and spoil his nieces and nephews.

After reciting a short blessing, he and Morgan started in on the meal.

“What kind of dressing is this?” She sniffed. “Lemon what?”

“It’s lemon basil. Something I ran across at a restaurant where I had dinner. This is my attempt to recreate it. I used light sour cream to cut some of the calories, fresh basil, lemon juice and a little salt and garlic pepper. What do you think?”

Morgan ate a bite, angled her head thoughtfully and groaned. “It’s really good. And that’s why I come over here to eat when Omar isn’t home.”

Malcolm shook his head. “Did he go over to the center?”

“Yes. Rashad is finally going to talk to one of the psychologists, but he said he’d only go if Omar went with him. He’s gone to a few of the group sessions, but that’s it.” Omar and a group of organizers had opened a mental health center geared toward veterans two years ago. Omar’s older brother, Rashad, suffered from PTSD, and Omar wanted a place for Rashad and others like him to seek treatment that didn’t center wholly around medication.

“I’m glad. I know how much he’s been hoping Rashad would go.” They ate in silence for a few minutes.

“What’s going on?”

He glanced up from his plate. “Nothing. Why?”

Morgan stared at him a long moment. “So you’re okay with Lauren being the nutritionist? I assume it’s the same Lauren responsible for breaking your heart in college.”

Malcolm set the fork down and pushed the plate aside. He blew out a long breath. “Yeah, it’s her.” Just the mention of her name conjured up an image of her standing in the center of the room earlier.

“I still owe her for that, so I hope I don’t run into her while I’m at the practice facility.”

“Let it go, Morgan.” When Morgan found out what happened, she had stormed over to Lauren’s dorm room, and he’d had to carry Morgan out to keep her from kicking Lauren’s butt. In their family, the rule had always been mess with one, mess with all. It was even truer for him and Morgan. “She doesn’t matter. I’ve been over her a long time.” At least he thought so. Malcolm had been in several relationships since their breakup and hadn’t thought of her once after the sting had died down. But his reaction to Lauren today told him he still had some lingering feelings that he’d buried.

Morgan took a sip of her tea. “What are you going to do about having to consult with her?”

“Nothing. I eat clean eighty percent of the time, work out four or five times a week, sometimes more, and my weight is fine. I have no need to see her.” Malcolm knew Lauren would be sending out emails to all the players to schedule the preseason consultation—the same routine every year—but he intended to send her the same information he had just mentioned to his sister, with the numbers, and ignore her for as long as possible. He had to stay far away from her. His sanity depended on it.

Chapter 3

Thursday morning, Lauren made it to the Cobras’ training facility at seven thirty. After three days on the job, she considered it a major accomplishment that she went straight to her office without taking a wrong turn. She powered up her computer, checked her schedule and read through her emails. She had sent a message to all the players and had three scheduled for today, including one with linebacker Darren Butler. So far, a little over half had responded, but not Malcolm. Not that she expected him to. A knock sounded, and her head came up.

“Morning. May I come in?”

Though the man wore athletic pants and shirt, she didn’t remember seeing his face on the roster. He stood close to six feet with a trim, toned body, military-short dark hair and deep brown eyes set in a handsome olive-toned face. “Certainly.”

“I’m Nigel West, the chef.”

Lauren smiled and stood to shake his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Nigel. I’m Lauren.”

“The pleasure is all mine.”

“Please have a seat.” She gestured to the small table and joined him there. “How long have you been the team chef?”

“Going on six years. For the most part, it’s been a blast, but there have been a few hiccups along the way,” Nigel added with a chuckle.

“Tell me a little about the meal setup. I want to see what you already have before making any changes.”

“Sure.” He leaned back in the chair and crossed his ankle over his knee. “There used to be a variety of approved snacks available at all times and a good amount of fruits and vegetables. But over the last year, let’s just say things weren’t as tight.”

“There were fewer healthy options.”

“You got it.”

Lauren wondered if that was what had led to the former dietitian being let go.

As if reading her mind, Nigel said, “When a few players weighed in at fifteen or twenty pounds over what had been reported, it was bye-bye, Stan. To make matters worse, he had taken money from two players who’d bribed him to lie.”

“Are they still on the team?” If they were, she needed to know up front. In no uncertain terms would she be party to any of those schemes.

“Nope. They were sent packing with Stan.”

It must have been kept hush-hush, because she didn’t recall reading anything about a scandal or seeing it mentioned on the sports news. “Well, you won’t have to worry about any of that with me.”

He smiled. “I believe we’re going to work well together. Let’s talk menus.”

For the next forty-five minutes, Lauren shared her plans, including color-coding stations based on the category of food, having a fresh vegetable and fruit station at every meal, and going back to providing the healthy snack options. “During training camp and practices, did Stan ever have your team make recovery shakes for the players after they worked out?”

“I mentioned it to him a couple of times after talking with a friend of mine who works with another team, but...” Nigel shrugged.

“Okay. I’m thinking a smoothie station might be something to add.” Lauren added it to her list. They talked awhile longer, and by the time he left, she felt more confident. Not that she couldn’t do the job, but working with elite athletes whose very livelihoods depended on them being in peak performance condition could be intimidating initially. And with her being a woman, she also had to endure the flirting, but she knew that would die down soon enough.

Her first two clients were team veterans and had a good handle on their dietary needs. They would only require check-ins unless something changed. Her third client, a rookie offensive lineman, was a different story. As she’d seen with most college students, athletes included, their diets consisted mainly of high-fat and processed foods—pizza, burgers, sodas and an array of sugary desserts. Trying to teach him to eat differently would be a challenge, and she had already made an appointment to go grocery shopping with him. She made a mental note to talk to Mr. Green’s assistant about holding a diet and nutrition session for the rookies.